Rabbi Kline’s Weekly Torah Commentary

One of my absolutely all time very favorite conversations in Torah happens in this week’s portion. On the heels of the Golden Calf’s creation, God gets angry and screams at Moses, “Moses, YOUR people, Who YOU led out of Egypt are …” and God goes on to berate the people and promise their destruction. Moses gets in Gods’ face, “Vayakhel Moshe el p’nae Elohim.” Moses reminds God that Israel is GOD’S people, who GOD led from Egypt, and adds that if God can go back on the promise of making this a great nation, God cannot be trusted.

I live a tradition that takes the Torah as an allegory. Whether or not this conversation is historical is of little consequence … to me. We can never know exactly what happened in the past, especially when no eyewitnesses existed. Believing it to be … or not to be history are both acts of faith. It has enormous spiritual value either way. That our tradition empowers us to be God’s indispensable partners is huge. For those who believe that this is history, this conversation also has huge theological ramifications. Moses shames God into the realization that God needs us as much as we need God … even while there are times that neither of us sees clearly.

I am in Israel this week, and the debate over what God wants plays out on the front page of every news source. Sometimes, God is mentioned. Sometimes, God is not. In every case, though, the debate over how this land is to flourish or languish roots in the notion that people are living out God’s design. The flashpoints seem to all focus around who God thinks is and is not holy. Perhaps the most impacting flashpoint in the news now involves the “Wall.” The controversy over who has rights to determine appropriate ways and paces to pray at it sparks a difficult and vitriolic of words and occasionally threatened violence.

The Israeli government just approved (without formal law) an egalitarian section of the wall, not under the auspices of the Chief Orthodox Rabbinate. My Reform Jewish movement hails this amazing victory. Politically speaking, it is an amazing victory. From a position of holiness, however … wherever one lies on the idea of whether the site itself is holy ground, there is no holiness in what it has done to splinter the Jewish people’s commitment to each other’s holiness.

The Rosh Yeshiva of an egalitarian Orthodox Seminary argues a very sad, but absolutely on point position when he writes that because the wall (kotel) has become a political lightning rod, we have stolen any sense of holiness from it. Here is the link to the article written by Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardoza – http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/shut-down-the-kotel/ – read it. Perhaps, the best answer is to shut the wall down.

Moses’ argument with God rings in my ears, now. The debate over holiness and partnership rages uncontrolled now. Screaming at each other about which group is righteous and which is evil; which of us is God and which is Moses … is the unholiest of conversations. God has no place in the midst of politics. Talmud reminds us that God’s influence is for healing and not destruction (perhaps someone should tell that to our Presidential candidates in the United States who keep throwing God at each other).

Yes, eventually, we will all have access to the wall. Eventually, we will settle into a political place where egalitarian rules are accepted as necessary, even while disdained. What damage do we cause each other along the way? We have turned the wall into the Golden Calf. It is an idol by all who worship holding power over it. Sadly, this is only one such debate. The attempt to control a woman’s body; the imposition of rights that discriminate against people because of who they love; the attempt to politicize, who owns God are all acts of unholy idolatry. As I go to lead an interfaith Shabbat prayer service at this “egalitarian” piece of the wall tonight, I will cry tears of sadness for what is. I will cry tears of hope for what I still pray can be. I am a prisoner of hope, and have to believe that the day will come when we realize how we defame God in this, and so many other politicizations of personally moral convictions. The Torah commands us to always choose life and peace. My hope and prayer is that we find both.

IF we could stop the rhetoric and look into each other’s eyes, perhaps we would find ourselves not looking at the hatred that spews from our mouths, but rather the love that each of us holds for people who are dear … and then find ways in which to hold each other more dearly. Shabbat Shalom.

I am told that when my late brother David was a toddler, he was always in trouble. Mom and Dad had to be vigilant to keep him from doing real harm to himself, the house, the dog, etc. Lore has it that he had to be reprimanded so often, that it became part of his identity. He was playing outdoors one day and a neighbor asked him what his name was. Without missing a beat, I am told that he looked at the man and enthusiastically he said, “No David!”

We all have many names, and we like hearing them interspersed throughout conversations. We want to be sure that people know who we are, and at the same time, accept many names based on the way in which people interact with us. Somehow we value our self-worth based on these names. What if we had no “names” and no ability to label values in speech?

Looking at this week’s portion, I had to acknowledge that nowhere in the text is Torah’s central figure ever acknowledged. Moses is not referred to by name through this entire text. With the exception of Deuteronomy (where he is the narrator), this is the only time since his birth story that Moses does not appear in a weekly text. Our sages struggle to determine how Moses could be left out of an entire week’s text. My struggle revolves around the idea that many can’t see that he is very much present.

The portion does begin “You shall command.” The character of God is addressing someone, and in context, that someone is Moses. As does the late Lubavitcher Rebbe, I would assert that using the definitive singular “you” is even more personal and engaging than other texts where we read, “God said to Moses, tell the people …” This is not a third person narrative, but a first and second person exchange. We are not reading a third hand report about what God said; we read the words as they come out of “God’s” mouth. Perhaps the intimacy of this conversation keeps us from needing the reference about with whom God is speaking.

Perhaps there is an important side message, as well. Despite his name’s not appearing in this text, tradition affirms a Mosaic authorship of this text. We have great impact on people’s lives, even where our name may or may not be attached to the text, project, or title. We live in a world where people need to get “credit” for what we do. We embellish our own involvement in matters to increase the credit and credibility we receive. We forget that the reward is in the result of the doing. We forget that impacting lives is the main focus of our work, and success can never be measured by what is written on the paper holding our resumes.

The problem roots in our own insecurities. We feel validated only when someone else validates us. We feel challenged often only when someone else catches us misbehaving. We feel affirmed only after someone extols the virtues of our efforts. We often feel that something we did had little meaning because there was no one there to report on it and witness it. We do not look into the eyes of the people with whom we interact; we do not take time to internalize the concern or appreciation in their eyes. We wait until we see a third hand report surface, telling the story of what we did before we feel concerned or affirmed. Our names are labels, they are not our identities. “No David” was not my brother; it was my parent’s response to his predilection for causing trouble. Ultimately though, it was the very curiosity that got him into trouble that led him to become the pro-active and brilliant surgeon, loving parent and husband and friend who we loved. Had “No David” not been the sum total of who he was, the world would have missed out on a great many blessings.

In the same sense, if Moses is only valuable when his name is being used; if we can only feel his presence in the story when we read his name, we have missed the value of Moses in the breadth of Torah. Faith exists when we can affirm our value, and each other’s value, without the accolades or reminders; when we can understand where we err, even when no one calls us on it. Faith rests in that place where we experience the blessings and the need for healing in life, not just where someone tells us about them. I guess that this phenomenon holds true for God, as well; not the God of the story in Torah, but the source of creative and sustaining engagement in our real world. Faith rests when we feel and experience a connection with divinity, even where God is not specifically mentioned.

There are those who discount faith, unless God … or a specific name for God is used in formulated verbal prayer. I struggle to believe that God needs to be called by name to be present. I look to our Torah portion and appreciate that God never had to say, “Moses, pay attention; Moses, I am talking to you; or Moses, you know you are wonderful.” In this text, the intimacy of the conversation is the blessing; the intimacy of the conversation; is the greatest of examples for how we should see ourselves; and the intimacy of the conversation … devoid of and unlimited by labels and accolades is where we find ourselves open to experience each other’s miracles. Shabbat Shalom.

The mystics teach that at the time of creation, “God” created two worlds. Torah teaches that God “spread out the Heavens and established the Earth.” Of course, there is a poetic symmetry to the phrase, because they are mirror worlds. The Greek philosopher Plato argued that the earth was the reflection of the reality existent in only the heavens. The universe is a lot more “vast” than the confines of the geometrically finite Earth. My take, the Earth is the “Cliff’s Notes” version of the unquantifiable Heaven.

No differently than a baby connects and depends on the stability of its mother’s health, so too, our earth’s existence depends on the state of the cosmos. The baby, while in utero, is never physically connected to mom. It exists and matures inside mom via the fluids and nutrients that pass and exchange through mom’s womb. At birth, the baby and its food filter (placenta) leave the womb. Our newborn now exists and grows on its own. Despite the reality that babies each float in its mother’s womb, our tradition would never describe mom’s role as the source of food for emerging life, nor the fetus as a separate, unrelated entity from its mother.

So, too, our earth formed from the flow of the universe. It existed in the universe’s womb, formulating and maturing through the process of its birth. Scripture tells us that it was not a definable life until God finished the work of creation and separated the child from its embryonic home. I posit that the seven days of creation mirror the seven months of gestation to the point where a child is viable outside the womb. In the same light, Torah speaks of a 40-year journey from slavery to freedom; 40 is roughly the number of weeks bringing a baby to full term and to a place where the infant begins moving body parts with intention.

Somehow, the infant never fully separates from its mother; an intangible bond keeps them tied forever. In the same sense, while the earth spins on its own axis, one could never claim it is not absolutely tied to the forces of the heavens from which it spawned. We debate to which behaviors, appearances, health, and idiosyncratic tendencies are a result of nature or nurture. It seems evident that the answer is, “Yes.” We are bound to our genomes; our DNA. We are equally influenced by the ways in which our surroundings influence our life choices. Along the way, we bear the responsibility to stand on our own, yet never lose touch with the people and the places from where we came. There are aspects of who we are and how we lie that tie us spiritually and physically to our roots. The relationships between the Earth and the Heavens created this paradigmatic rule upon which all life exists and evolves. My eyes and receding hairline link me to my father. Looking at his Bar Mitzvah picture, he is even more indistinguishable from my son.

Our Torah portion tells us to build a sanctuary for God, so that God may dwell amongst us. God tells us to remember, through the tangible (the sanctuary), the unbreakable bond that ties us to our creative parent. Relying again on the parent-child relationship to understand the context of this command, I know that no matter where I find my feet, my identity is always tied to my spiritual and genetic roots. So, where is this sanctuary that God commands Israel to build? If it were only one place in the world, God could have only limited relationships and even smaller sphere of influence. The Tabernacle in the wilderness, the Temple in Jerusalem and temples around the world, the churches, mosques, ashrams, meeting houses, and all other structures are only symbolic reminders of our obligation to ensure the sanctity of sanctuaries in which God can dwell. Philo, the leader of the ancient Alexandrian Jewish community taught that we are the sanctuaries God commanded to build. Our souls are the altars upon which we passionately offer every act of justice, righteousness, contrition, thanksgiving, and love. We are the sanctuaries of which God spoke, and at the level in which this impacts each of us, it is not tied to religion, culture, gender, race, or even age. Our hearts feel the impact of the spiritual embrace and rejection from people of all walks of life. To own that God dwells amongst us, we need to understand that we are the vessels through which God acts and speaks. God is amongst us, when we acknowledge that there exists divinity in each of us … anything short, anything that makes us think that it vests in some and not others is not faith, it is at best superstition, and at worst fanaticism. We honor our parents when we honor the love they shared with us. We honor God the same way. Shabbat Shalom. 

I vividly remember the gripe sessions I used to have with friends in school. We would complain about all sorts of things, and often, more for the sake of complaining than to seek any resolution. Most often, we complained about our parents. We all had “horrible” parents. They made rules that made no sense. They failed to understand our firm “grasp” on “reality.” They grew up in the “Dark Ages,” what did they know? “I’ll never need to know algebra when I grow up, why do I have to pass the class, if it will never be useful?”

Then I began growing up, got married, and … became a parent. My father has been gone for 26 years, but he keeps getting smarter, every day. So, now, I have a sign that reads, “TEENAGERS! MOVE OUT WHILE YOU STILL KNOW EVERYTHING!” One of the greatest lessons I have learned (or am still learning) is that one often does not understand rules, until one has the experience to understand the rules. There is a reason that we need to pay attention and learn to accept responsibility. Some of the rules made sense, but we never paid enough attention to understand how fundamentally sound the rules were. Why we had to do homework should have been obvious, and it was, for those who paid attention. Some of the rules still make no sense. I chalk these up to my continued failure to understand, or better, perhaps some were just my parents’ idiosyncrasies playing through. My job was to appreciate my parents enough to accept that some of the things they demanded of me, while making no sense, I needed to heed, just because I appreciated everything else that they did for me and with me.

Welcome to Torah. Most often, the “name” of the Torah portion comes from the first significant word in the text, irrespective of whether or not the “name” speaks to the content/theme of the week’s portion. This week, the portion’s name “Mishpatim” does both. This week, having just received the “10 Commandments,” Moses and God continue with a litany of property rules and regulations (which include rules about slave ownership). The word “Mishpatim” means (in this context) laws or judgments. This week’s portion contains over 50 of these rules. Ultimately, there are 613 such rules (Mitzvot) in Torah. Helping us make sense of our tradition, tradition teaches us to divide the 613 mitzvot into three categories.

The problem we face in looking to the text for instruction is that some of the rules make perfect sense (Mishpatim), but many others do not seem to have any rational relevance. Mishpatim are the rules that cause us to respect each other’s property. Some of the ones that do not make sense at first do after we experience them (Aedut). An “Aed” is a witness. Ritual immersion seems to make no sense, until one does so and senses the symbolism of spiritual cleaning that comes with physical cleaning. Other of these rules may never seem rational (Chukkim). Whatever reasons we have created for wrestling with “kosher,” there is no rational explanation for it in Torah.

If we think about these separations, while the above explanations can help make sense for ritual practice,I do not believe they help us spiritually. Other parts of our tradition teaches that there are no large and small mitzvoth. To separate the mitzvoth serves to divest us from our own obligation to wrestle with tradition. As I see it, each of the 613 requires a certain amount of faith. Even the ones that seem easy, only seem easy, because of someone else’s experience. I take for granted that speed limits exist. They only exist, though, because people drove too fast and created hazardous situations for people around them. I have faith that the dynamic is real and that the rule works, or that I have enough faith and courage to work for change when it does not. The truth is that we are all people of faith. We are all “Aedim,” witnesses, and we learn from each other. Everything we do requires a leap of faith to accept that what we observe can make sense. Handing in tests or work assignments; getting behind the wheel of a car; expressing affection to another human; or believing that each of us has the right to be happy: each requires us to have faith in something beyond what we can understand and quantify. Still, though, so many demean the value of faith, and even more demean the value of each other’s faith.

Ani ma-amin b’emunah shlaemah – I believe with perfect faith that each of us has a valuable gift to share and each of us has the capacity to learn from each other. In fact, all 613 mitzvot point us in the direction of paying more attention to each other, as we make sense out of living as a community. Where the rules don’t always seem to make sense, perhaps these are our opportunities to grow our world. Some rules are handed to us; some we have to create to build bridges between us. Sit down and study with someone; learn to make sense out of the non-sense. This is not about religion. It is about faith. I believe with perfect faith that if we witness each other living faithfully, we can change the world. Shabbat Shalom.

“I am Adonai, your God … you shall have no other gods before Me.” These are the first of the “10 Commandments.” Some versions/traditions would argue that these are two separate statements, and depending on the conversation; I might often be inclined to agree. The neat thing about the Exodus 20 list is that there are not really “ten;” there can be ten, or as many as nineteen. Torah is absolutely flexible. That said, “I am Adonai, your God … you shall have no other gods before Me.”

According to Torah, God is a jealous God. “For I the Lord your God am a jealous God, visiting the guilt of the parents upon the children, upon the third and upon the fourth generations of those who reject Me, but showing kindness to the thousandth generation of those who love Me and keep My commandments.” Wow! Don’t you find it sardonically amusing that the character of God starts the “Decalogue” reminding us that God is impassioned/jealous, and will end it demanding that we not be jealous and covetous? Have no gods before GOD, lest God’s jealousy wreak havoc amongst the people. These two statements bookend the “10 Commandments” (first and last). In the same vein, there are a great many who want to post and live by these “rules” in every public venue and every walk of life. They point out that we are made in the image of God (creation story of Genesis) and hence must live by God’s standards – the Bible … biblical inconsistencies notwithstanding.

“I am Adonai, your God … you shall have no other gods before Me. I the Lord your God am a jealous God, but don’t you be jealous.” I refuse to believe that the sages missed this one in creating this canon. I do believe that making them the bookends our sages are trying to tell us something about how to see scripture, but more importantly, how to see ourselves in a relationship with Divinity. Do we really believe that God is schizophrenic or worse, a hypocrite? How could “God” tell us that it is ok for God to act badly, but not allow for our human failings? Perhaps we need to come to grips with what it is that we truly believe. If I believe that the Source of creation is good, then I have to look at these texts and see them in a light separated from the one through which I view creation and inspiration.

The Bible is prophetic. The book is intended to create an inspirational conversation between its readers (as is the mission of all sacred scripture). We find holiness in the engagement with each other, not the book. So, what is the purpose of bookending the Decalogue the way that the text does? I believe it is to remind us not to make the God of the Bible … GOD; and not to make an idol out of the Bible. Think about it. Bullies threaten others. Why would the GOD of love, the GOD of all creation, the GOD of all sustenance need to threaten people?

We find faith in the holiness of engagement and not in the fear of punishment. Faith exists where we choose to share in each other’s dignity, because we matter to each other, not because we are threatened into being with each other. As I listen to what is passing for politics these days, I hear rhetoric demanding that we choose our sides and our camps. To be undecided is to be “unfaithful” in the eyes of the bullies demanding our vote, our resources, and our submission to the narrowing message that distinguishes one bad answer from the other.

Pick your party; there is no sense of collegiality. There is no sense that we need to forge a future together. There is no sense that service matters anymore. What matters is power, the power that allows us to demean others and lord ourselves over them. This is the voice that tells us to make America great, as we dismiss the validity and value of countless Americans. This is the voice that calls for us to construe strictly the Constitution that demands that certain rights are INALIENABLE, even as they try to alienate people from a free exercise of these rights. What made our country great was our commitment to creating opportunity for lives downtrodden and threatened elsewhere. Read the Statue Of Liberty. What threatens us most are the hypocritical voices that call on us to believe in only them, while they pay no heed to us. Why, if we are truly insistent on making America great, are we insistent on destroying the very values upon which we flourish? IF God is a bully, I want no part of God. Likewise, I have no use for bullies who insist that I bow only to their egos and their power.

This week’s Torah text is eye opening. God is not an idol. I pray that we pay attention in our own lives to keep any of those craving power from becoming our God. In the end, I have to pray for enlightenment, for dignity, for wisdom and for healing of the growing breach exiling us from each other. Shabbat Shalom.

“Aeli, Aeli … My God, My God, May these things never end: The sand and the sea; the rustle of the water; the lightning in the sky; and each human prayer.” This is a most wonderful piece written by a heroic Hannah Senesh. Senesh volunteered to paratroop behind axis lines to facilitate freeing Jews from the Shoah, German soldiers discovered her and executed her in 1944. Amidst the ugliness of the war, she found miracles through which to seek redemption.
I have to believe that Hannah was thinking of the events of this week’s Torah portion as she hoped for the nightmare of NAZI Germany to be over and for goodness to prevail. Her dream sort of came true, even though she did not live to see it happen. Staring in the face of a Hitler led regime that shunned hope for any other than his master nation/race, Hannah spoke the words that ultimately address the hope for a Messianic Age. The sands and the seas, in their purity are symbolic of the beauty of nature. Still, though, battleships use the seas to transport weapons aimed in order to destroy civilizations. 

I walk on the sea shore and let the sand pass between my toes, and yet, the shores of this world’s seas have borne witness to many of the bloodiest battles in history. The glistening sand turned red; stained with the blood of young people whose future ended with the flash of a gun, the blast of an artillery shell, or the light refracting blade of a bayonet. The lightning over the horizon that provides the most beautiful of nighttime light shows became the symbol of the Schutzstaffel (THE NAZI SS); the highly trained echelon of storm troopers who destroyed families, homes, villages and nations. All of these symbols of the most beautiful aspects of nature were compromised by people wanting to lord themselves over other people. The things we thought most beautiful turned against us.

The one beautiful aspect of life that could never be compromised is our prayer. Each of us, whatever befalls us, still controls the rush and stillness in our souls. Prayer has nothing to do with the ritual or practice of religion, and while “religion” has always been manipulated for the sake of political power, what happens inside each one of us is sacred. It is this ability to pray that affords us the strength and courage to overcome the most horrific of obstacles, as we journey, at least spiritually into freedom. It is the power of prayer that allows us to survive; that pushes us to make our survival meaningful. It is the power of prayer that makes power mongers afraid, because it is the power of prayer that leads us to join with others who also yearn for freedom and peace, to make our prayer come true. Against all odds, it is prayer that changes the course of history, that overthrows oppression, and that lights the path to freedom.

Abraham Joshua Heschel taught us that prayer has to undercut the status quo, opening our soul’s eyes to a better answer than what our human eyes have yet seen. This is not the prayer of a ritual service, unless one gets lost in praying, moving more deeply into one’s own spirit than any words on a prayer book or songs in a hymnal can reach. When we pray, we reach past words and yoke the power of creation and restoration. As we emerge from this prayer, we bring this empowerment forward, and we find ourselves once again able to assert, “In the beginning, God created light.”

Prayer was foundational in the American movement for Civil Rights. It remains foundational as we struggle to move the spirit that demanded legal change into our hearts motivating moral change. We have new laws, but not new hearts. We have protected classes, but alienated people. Were this a first in history, our failures would be devastating, but we know that time and again, groups calling themselves the elite before God have tried to rid the world of all others and in each case they failed.

This week, we read one of the oldest stories of spiritual and moral redemption. Freed from slavery in Egypt, Israel marches forth. Pursued by the oppressors to the shores of the sea, it was not the power of Moses’ verbal prayer that opened the sea. Rather, it was the leap of faith that Israel took … into the shore waters, that made them part. Miracles happen because we pray, not because we recite prayers. In prayer, we restore nature’s beauty. In prayer, we end our own captivity. In prayer, we rebuild our communities and our world.

Pray this week, that we restore beauty to ways in which we converse. Pray that we find ourselves able to look into each other’s eyes, and seeing God stare back, that we learn to embrace … even those we do not understand. We were strangers in the land of Egypt. We know the plight of strangers. Pray this week to rid ourselves of the barriers that keep us estranged from one another. As our hearts open; as our soul’s eyes take focus, the waters that held us back will part, opening our path back to each other. The shore that stood threatened to be again stained with the blood of slaughtered nations will continue to glisten and invite us to shore in its warmth. The lightning will return to the heavens and reign in the skies. On that day, that we find our prayer for restoration fulfilled, we will all come to know the oneness of our creation and the love with which we are formed. Shabbat Shalom.

Life matters. I think this may be one universal truth upon which the whole world can agree. Life matters. I wish I could extend the sentence to argue, “ALL life matters.” I pray for the day when I can argue, “ALL life matters EQUALLY.” Alas, at this point in our existence, all I can say is, “Life matters.”
Several years ago, a congregant accosted his Rabbi about how meaningless prayer was in his life. “You have us read a prayer about God bringing peace to the earth. There is no peace on earth!” The Rabbi responded, “This is why it is a prayer and not an affirmation. You are correct; the world is not at peace. How about joining in our prayer to make it happen?” He quickly responded, “People have been saying these prayers for thousands of years, it ain’t working! If there is a God, He hasn’t cared to listen.” The saddened Rabbi thought for a moment and then offered, “Certainly God listened. God heard your cry against injustice; that is why you are here. God cannot do what we will not do. Saying the words of peace, but not doing the work of peace will never bring us peace. You’re aflame with the passion to get rid of the violence … come, let’s work.”

This story always reminds me of a great book title. The book is okay, but the title is amazing: “There Is No Messiah, And You’re It!” The work is not going to be done unless we do the work; if we do the work, the world changes. This is a simple enough formula, so why is it that the world does not change? We have lots of people doing lots of good work, yet it seems as though the news gets worse day after day. Why is it that we cannot seem to make headway on the path to reconciliation with each other?

This weekend begins the annual commemoration of Martin Luther King, Jr. Each year, our nation sets aside special days to honor special Americans. Dr. King’s day falls on the weekend, and his birthday is actually Friday. It happens that Dr. King touched many lives and was influenced by many, as well. One of his most spiritually influential friends was Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. These modern day prophets learned from each other, marched together, and took on racism and the Vietnam War, together. Jointly, they and others opened our eyes and our hearts to see each other’s dignity with greater clarity and with a sense of radical amazement … the epiphanic “wow” that happens when one realizes he is walking amongst miracles … each one of us. They taught us that fear and hate serve only to exile us further from each other. Fear and hate drive us to “circle our wagons” and defend them with violence, if necessary. When stuck in “fear” mode, we fail to see that our “wagons” are actually built just like everyone else’s wagons. Our wagons may look different, they may carry different loads, but they are made from the same stuff.

Why is it that we cannot seem to make headway on the path to reconciliation with each other? We spend more time afraid of affirming each other than healing the breach between us and pushing each other forward. In this week’s Torah portion, the final plague strikes Egypt. Why did it take ten plagues to force Egypt to let Israel go free from slavery? Why did no one stand up to Pharaoh before? We know from history that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. We also know that most people follow even the worst ideologies when they live in a place of privilege or are too afraid to speak up. Egypt’s failure to speak up and stand up to Pharaoh devastated the entire nation. Our story teaches us that our enslavement came because Pharaoh was too afraid at how many Israelites lived in his land. That fear drove an entire nation to do horrific things to their neighbors. One horrific “leader” ultimately caused blight on the animals and the land, illness, and then ultimately the death of the first born in every home and every field. Even as Israel celebrates this day as the day that slavery ended, no one can look past the destruction of an entire civilization because of fear and bigotry. Certainly, this phenomenon replicates throughout history. This was the Inquisition and the Crusades before it. This was the Shoah (Holocaust) and the arrest and interment of Asian Americans in the United States during World War II. This is the story of Black America. This story replicates because humanity has not yet figured out how to experience the blessing of being … for all of us.

Why is it that we cannot seem to make headway on the path to reconciliation with each other? We have not yet learned how to listen to voices of our prophets, biblical and modern: “Amongst each other, we walk among miracles.” The confluence of the King Holiday, the birthdays of these two great men, and the warning provided us in our reading of Torah ought to teach us that world will not heal so long as we accept the status quo. The world is changing and the protection of “privilege” that falsely secures so many is eroding. The day will come soon, when even those who have known power will be only a fraction of a large and diverse society. It is too late then to first open our eyes and our souls to the blessing every person brings to the communal table. I pray that we take the first steps this weekend.

To that end, join us at Monmouth Reform Temple tonight. The choir of Pilgrim Baptist Church will join ours in leading our Sabbath worship. My dear friend Pastor Terrence Porter will help lead our Sabbath Worship. My brother in spirit, Dr. Everett McCorvey (Chair of the Opera Department of the University of Kentucky, Conductor of the National Chorale, and founder of the American Spiritual Ensemble) will preach and join our Cantor in singing. What a night it will be. Services are at 7pm and a dessert fellowship will follow. Shabbat Shalom.

At our religious school assembly for the week, our Cantor spoke about out-of-sync calendars. We are reading about the beginning of the Exodus in the Torah cycle, even while the holiday of Passover is months away. Our Torah cycle calendar is not in synch with our holiday calendar. I added that our secular calendar shows that we are in the first month of a new year, but that happened several months ago on our Jewish calendar which by the way, technically begins in the Spring with the month of Nissan. Each of us has multiple new years in our lives, and holidays for one are different than holidays for another. We need to be mindful that time is not static, and that in some piece of our lives, each day is a cause for commemoration. The stories teach lessons that are of value every day, not just on specific days.

There is a precept in Talmud, “Aen Mukhdam v’Aen M’ukhar” – there is no before or after in Torah. Our tradition teaches that things happen and get attention, as they warrant happening and getting attention. The hidden gem in this precept is that we often find pieces of text that somehow seem to be out of place or out of order. The story of Judah and Tamar appears to interrupt the Joseph story out of seemingly nowhere. The Rabbis teach that it gets placed there for all sorts of teaching moment reasons. 

So, this week we open the Torah portion with God’s four promises of redemption: God will take us out of Egypt; Deliver us from slavery; Redeem us; and Acquire us as God’s own. AFTER God announces this promise, the plagues begin to descend upon Egypt. Am I alone in thinking it odd that an “All powerful … all everything God” needed to bring the devastating plagues upon Egypt to make all this happen. Why couldn’t God just simply lead the folks into freedom to begin with?

This conundrum is why I love Torah! The answer is simple, “God did.” Okay, now, finish shaking your head in confusion and get this, “Israel didn’t want it.” Please remember that Israel and God … and Pharaoh are characters in the Biblical story. There is no evidence to prove an Exodus or an enslavement, outside of the Biblical texts. Our earliest of sages taught that the literal storyline in the text maybe nice, but it is not where the spirit of the text lies. Removing the names of the characters for a moment, we see an incredible psychological study of humanity. In fact, it is nearly impossible for us to not see ourselves in the midst of the story and the study: our Seder traditionally begins with the phrase, “I was a slave in Egypt.”

We are free. Yes, there are places in the world that are not, but we are. So many of us live expressly privileged lives. Still, though, things happen to us (the plagues) and we get stuck in them. Torah will be explicit, after the tenth plague, we are expelled from Egypt; we did not leave Egypt. God has already delivered us … all people. God has acquired us … all of us. We are redeemed and free. We ignore this miracle and get so caught up in being hurt or angry that it weighs on us to the point where we are unable to move at all … unless someone pushes us. Pain is real, and we let it consume all of us. It is almost as if we prefer to live with this weight on our shoulders than to simply look around and see how this brokenness is not the who we are, it is only what happened to us. 

We choose whether to regroup and rebuild or not. For this reason, the redemption comes before the plagues. For this reason we acknowledge our own predilections towards pain over freedom as we begin Seder’s journey to freedom. Throughout Torah we read the command, “Therefore choose life.” Even with the setbacks … tragedies that plague moments in our lives, we need to have faith enough to see what can happen beyond the loss or hurt. We are amazed at the stories of people who have overcome the most severe abuses and who teach us that blessings transcend the pain. We acknowledge, in pain, those who are devoured in their misery. We are blessed … let’s acknowledge the blessing and celebrate the opportunities for growth, for healing and for experiencing blessings that are with us every day. For this reason, we read about experiencing the miracles about us, before we face the plagues prior to our freedoms, Shabbat Shalom.

This week I marked the passing of two great comedians. One died four years ago and the other just this week. One was a brilliant surgeon who brought healing to many, even as he shared his sense of humor in the operating room, in his office, and on stage as a “Stand Up” comic. The other dissected stereotypes and prejudices and brought healing to many, as he shared his sense of humor on the basketball court, in the stands playing with fans, and through his tireless humanitarian work. The surgeon is my brother. Though David passed four years ago, we gathered to dedicate his gravestone this weekend. The basketball player is Meadowlark Lemon, the Clown Prince of the Harlem Globetrotters.

As kids, David and I loved watching the Globetrotters. We sat in utter amazement as Lemon, Marques Haynes, Curley Neal, Geese Ausbie, and the crew delighted crowds and recreated the game of basketball. Lemon captained the basketball wizardry, and over his entire career, played in more games than any other player in history. Everything that is “razzle dazzle” and “above the rim” in basketball … is and only is, because of the way in which the Globetrotters broke down the barriers of racism and rallied all Americans to watch them reinvent the game. As my brother went through Medical School (we shared an apartment while I was in college), I sat amazed as his classmates spoke of his medical skills, and we laughed at his perfectly timed sense of humor. David’s patients remembered him for healing and changing their lives, and my niece said, “Dad’s patients always came first, and his family never came second.” Lemon’s time on earth has passed, as has my brother’s, but they are, and will be, remembered as having touched many lives in uplifting and meaningful ways.

This week, we begin a new book in the Torah. Exodus picks up where the Book of Genesis left off (plus a few hundred Biblical years). One of the first things we read is that a new Pharaoh arose over Egypt; one who knew not Joseph. Joseph had been the second in command to Pharaoh, and Viceroy over the entire Egyptian empire. Some say that he saved Egypt from the famine. Many others argue that in so doing, he destroyed every Egyptian life in the process. He did not buy their grain in years of plenty but sold it back at exorbitant cost when there was no other food available. As the Torah tells the story, Egypt got even wealthier while enslaving its own population.

So, this week, I have to “re-process” my brother’s death and reflect on the legendary life of a great American. At the same time, we read about the legacy of a man who certainly changed the course of Biblical history, but in a way that many argue created the atmosphere that led Egyptians to enslave his descendants. A new Pharaoh arose to overthrow a regime that may have been tied more to its own wealth than the well-being of its population.

In these polarized paradigms, Torah comes to life. We see how our life experiences demand that we engage the text and tradition in a conversation about faith. Torah is a tool for modern thought, building an ethical foundation, and ensuring personal growth. If we are shocked by the behaviors of our Biblical ancestors or the consequences of those behaviors, then Torah has helped us learn how not to travel those paths in our dealings with each other. Where we see hope and celebration, as we did when Jacob and Joseph reunited, we learn to pattern our lives in ways that help bring us back together, even in the most unlikely of circumstances.

These are conversations for all of us, not just Jews … and while technically “Bible stories,” not just for our children. This Shabbat begins on the first day of the secular new year. Yogis teach that we are not supposed to make “New Year’s Resolutions.” Rather, we make commitments to lifestyle and behavioral modifications. We do not create truth by fiat; it unfolds as we expand our ability to see the miracles about us. Facilitating this journey is, and always has been, the foundational purpose of Torah. As the late Lubavitcher Rebbe Menachem Schneerson wrote in his book, “Towards a Meaningful Life,” Torah is the possession of the entire world, we just use it differently. People living intentionally evolve the way in which the rest of us experience the world. Meadowlark Lemon and the Globetrotters (precedent and subsequent) filled the arenas, entertaining and conversing with “White” people even during the heights of segregation and the Civil Rights movement. My brother saw patients in Beverly Hills and in the Charity Hospitals. Imagine if we really could understand that it spawns from traditions centuries older and has bred the many variations of faithful conversation since, even through its own continual evolution. What might the world look like if we could fathom this miracle: we really are all studying the same moral values; we are praying to the same God who inspires all of creation; that our cultural differences are just that … different. We pray for the day when God will be acknowledged as a single source of creation in a relationship with one humanity, even while we speak differently. We pray for the day that, with this realization, we experience the prophet’s words come true, we will become one in all that matters most … our commitment to each other. Happy New Year and Shabbat Shalom.

As we bring the book of Genesis to a close, we also end our secular year. The stories of creation should help us appreciate that which our daily news strives to obscure. We are one people sharing one heart … equally sharing this one heart. The end of the book horrifically resembles the end of this year. We are exiled and at war with each other.

My commentary is simple this week. I pray for access to Eden. I’m not speaking of the Eden of ignorance. Rather that place where we are in synch with each other and with the earth; the Eden before we knew weaponry or abuse; the Eden before we forced God into the narrow boxes of fear based fundamentalism. As we turn to the new book, we will begin our journey across the wilderness. The goal of this journey is the new Eden; a land where milk and honey flow freely; a land where we can sit under our vines and fig trees with each other and not afraid of each other. “You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.” You and I can change the madness that is, into Eden. Engage someone new today. Stretch your boundaries to include the ability to experience the miracles each of us has to share. This is our last Shabbat of 2015 … make it memorable. Shabbat Shalom!